


Running From Imminent Problems & Into More Manageable Ones.

by respectthedripkaren



Category: Carmilla (Web Series), Carmilla - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, F/F, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 22:27:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20786051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/respectthedripkaren/pseuds/respectthedripkaren
Summary: Laura Hollis is a hurricane that's trying it's best not to destroy everything in it's path.





	Running From Imminent Problems & Into More Manageable Ones.

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written anything in my life so please bare with me on what is sure to be a truly terrifying journey. I'm not writing chapters in advance because maybe your comments will help me shape this story? Who knows, certainly not me.

** _Heaven help me, I'm sinking,_ **

  
** _You can see the hurt in my face,_ **

  
** _Let them hear the break in your voices,_ **

  
** _You'll never know how much you can take._ **

* * *

  
Your eyelids struggle against the signals your brain is sending them that say "open your goddamn eyes", it takes a conscious effort to keep from slipping back under the waves of drowsiness as they wash over you.

  
The first thing you notice when your eyes start to focus and everything is less of a street-lit blur is that, in contrast to the white walls, it's dark out. It's dark out and there is someone hunched, unconsciously uncomfortable, in the pale blue armchair next to your bed. There's something nagging at your senses saying you shouldn't be here, like a mix of memories and nightmares. Suddenly breathing isn't as easy as it should be, your breaths coming faster and faster and there is an incessant noise that you wish would just stop. stop. stop.

  
This is when all the information you're taking in starts coming in connections; It's dark out which means it's either an extreme variable of early or late, there's a stranger passed out in an armchair next to your bed except you don't have an armchair in your bedroom and these starched sheets are not what you're used to.

There's also something recognisable about the shadowed sleeper, maybe it's the long, dark waves or perhaps it's in the way she tries to make herself as small as possible in the vulnerability of sleep. Either way there's a relief in realising they're known to you, a relief that's short lived because you never wanted to drag anyone into this darkened corner of your life. It seems you just couldn't help yourself.

  
That's when you decide you can't be around to deal with the fallout of this situation that is entirely your own fault. It's nothing new, this is what you do, a problem arises and you run. Running from imminent problems and into more manageable ones, ones that don't have an immediate reaction until you find yourself hooked to an IV in god only knows what hospital this time.

  
You try to keep the rustling of the stiff sheets to a minimum as you shuffle your legs out from under them, softly setting the tips of your toes on the cold, hard floor. Your exposed legs shiver without the warmth of the blanket that was draped over them, you need clothes because there's no way you're getting out of here in this gown (you've learned from that mistake).

  
You chance a glance towards the shadowed form slumped in, what you know from experience to be, an extremely uncomfortable armchair, the ones that welcome you in only to tell you-

"_I'm sorry for your loss, there's nothing more we could have done_".

You blink hard and push the memory away before it can drag you into it's reality. Trying to forget things is kind of how you ended up here, you thought you were getting better at it, maybe you're just getting worse.

Her breathing is steady and deep and maybe something's on your side right now because she's usually such a light sleeper. Maybe it's the hours she's stayed awake hoping you would do the same.

A pang of guilt aches in your chest at the thought and you know this is only going to do more damage but you simply cannot be here when she wakes up. You're being selfish but you've been doing that a lot lately so what's once more?

  
One of your dad's overnight bags rests open on the floor next to the EKG machine, the yellow lettering of your old university sweater tells you its contents are yours. Your poor Dad, you dread to think about how you've put him through this, _again_. As you lean down to grab the bag you pull the plug on the Heart Rate Monitor (you know that leaving it on and taking the clip off your finger will only alert the nurses). You tighten the screw on the IV to stop the fluids and now comes the part you hate.

Which is funny really, you being scared to take the needle out, laughable. The tape pulls at the hairs on the back of your hand as you slowly peel it away, taking a deep breath as you pinch the drip between your thumb and index finger. There's a dark fog creeping in at the edges of your vision and you push it away, pushing against the tingling feeling making it's way through your body as you pull the cannula slowly. You can feel the needle as it's removed from your vein and you're quick to put pressure on the exit wound to prevent any further mess, (you've done enough of that already).

  
You quickly shuffle into some underwear and sweatpants from the duffel bag, forgoing any shirts in favour of the old Silas U sweater because time is of the essence and you really need to leave. You always liked the way it hung from your frame, buying two sizes too big so you could let all 5'2" of yourself get lost in it.

Just as you're pulling on your sneakers you hear the armchair groan and creak with the twisting of it's occupant. You're frozen in place as the occupier turns to face you and you almost don't want to look. You wait a few seconds to see if she stirs again, the darkness masking her face, making it difficult to deduce if she's rousing from her slumber or not. If she's awake she hasn't seen you so you take that as a sign and head for the door.

You're planning all possible routes out of here (depending on where exactly _here_ is) as your hand grips the cold plastic of the door handle, pushing it down slowly with a _click_. There's a deep intake of breath from the corner of the room behind you and your stomach plummets.

You don't know why you do it but you turn to face her and you really shouldn't have because it breaks your heart to see the way she looks at you. Even in the shadows of darkness, in the moments after sleep when literally no one looks good, you know she's beautiful. Your heart physically hurts because there is a tragedy in the way she looks to you with a mix of hope and sadness and you hate that you're the reason for the latter.

  
"Laura?" She asks, voice coated in sleep, raspy and confused and it's taking everything you've got to keep the tears from falling because why does she have to look at you like that?  
Your mouth feels like a sandpit and you know it's from lack of use so maybe that's why your voice breaks when you voice a pitiful "I'm sorry." and turn to run. Because running is what you do.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!  
Be as brutal as you want in the comments, honestly, I need the criticism.


End file.
